Woman and Artist Part 24

She broke off, looked once more at Hobbs, and could no longer contain herself. Tears choked her respiration; she was stifling. Sobbing like a child, she hid her grief in the good woman's bosom.

"It shall never happen again, Hobbs; don't scold me, it is all over."

Next day she was calm again but weak; and Hobbs, without telling her, sent a telegram to Gabrielle to beg her to come to her dear mistress, that day if possible.

Gabrielle lost no time in responding to the call; but she could not discover in Dora any symptoms that were at all disquieting. Dora from that day avoided Elm Avenue in her walks.

She had set bravely to work at her painting; and as the weeks went on she seemed to pick up the dropped thread of life, and gradually to attach herself to it again. Her health did not suffer in the new existence, and her courage remained firm. At the end of a month she had done the picture of the little Italian boy, and sold it for twenty-five guineas.

"Look, Hobbs," she cried, on returning home; "look what I have earned--twenty-five guineas! Well-earned money that!"

And, in her delight, she kissed the bank notes. Then finding herself quite naturally on her favourite topic, she poured into the ears of the devoted Hobbs an eloquent harangue upon the wrong use of money and the demoralisation of the rich. The discourse was edifying, and duly impressed the only listener; but Philip, to whom it was really addressed, was far off, and did not get the benefit of it.

XVI

PHILIP RETURNS TO THE FOLD

The day after General Sabaroff had dined at Philip's house, he left London for Paris, and from that city he went to St. Petersburg. He made no further effort to see Dora. "Perhaps I have been deceiving myself after all," he said; "I shall forget her." The very evening of his arrival in Paris, he occupied a box at the Theatre des Varietes with Mimi Latouche.

Philip, when the doctor had advised him to leave home for a little while, started immediately for Paris. Next morning he presented himself at the Hotel Meurice, and sent up his card to Sabaroff, for he had learnt that the General was staying there. Philip was soon shown up to the first floor, where the Russian had a sumptuous suite of rooms, and was ushered into the salon. In a state of feverish agitation, easy to understand, he awaited the General.

He had but two or three minutes to wait.

"Sir," said Philip, as soon as the two men were face to face, "I reached home from Paris a few moments after the departure of your Excellency from my house. I will not take up much of your time now. I have only a few words to say. I am an Englishman, and in my country we do not fight duels with men who insult our wives; we set the law on them, or we give them a sound thras.h.i.+ng."

"Kindly explain yourself," said Sabaroff, in a tone at once mocking and arrogant, and glancing about for a means of defence.

"I will explain in two or three words," said Philip.

He drew out of his pocket the envelope which contained the torn-up contract that Sabaroff had signed in Dora's presence.

"Here is the paper you signed in my house," said he; "I return it." So saying, he flung the torn pieces of paper in the Russian's face, and the bits of paper fluttered in all directions.

"You will answer to me for this affront, sir," said Sabaroff.

"With the greatest pleasure," rejoined Philip. "I am not in England now; I am in France; and you know what I mean by that. I am at your service.

Here is my address."

The same evening a duel with pistols was arranged by two of the General's aides-de-camp and two artist friends of Philip.

Sabaroff hated Philip, and he promised himself to be revenged for Dora's disdain.

"I will kill him," he said to himself.

The encounter took place next morning at eight o'clock in the Bois de Vincennes.

Philip lodged a ball in the right shoulder of his adversary. Sabaroff would have killed Philip with pleasure.

At eleven-fifty Philip took the train for London, and at half-past seven he was back in his rooms at the Alexandra Hotel. The duel had been kept secret; there was no mention of it in the newspapers.

A week after Philip's return to London, he was told of Dora's sudden recovery and flight to St. John's Wood. Dr. Templeton kept him informed of everything that was going on. It was arranged that Philip and Hobbs should meet once a day, and these daily consultations were held without the knowledge of Dora, until further orders.

Philip took Dr. Templeton's advice on every point.

He did not write to Dora. "No," he said to himself, "all the faults are on my side; and it is for me to repair them, not by speeches and promises but by deeds. I am not ready yet with a plan of action; but I shall find one soon, and I will clear myself in Dora's eyes. I have lost my child, but I will regain my wife. I will save her for her sake and my own. If I fail, life is no longer of any use to me. Art could never console me; Dora is more fortunate than I; she will find in painting a forgetfulness of the past. For me, I must win back Dora, or everything else is worthless, and I am done for. To work, then, cautiously!

Everything will depend on the way in which I set about it."

He began reviewing his position. The state of his finances was satisfactory. He still had thirty-two thousand pounds, of which twenty-eight thousand were invested in first-cla.s.s securities.

"By Jove, I have only to clear out of that infernal house in order to be rich; nearly fifteen hundred pounds a year and my brus.h.!.+ Why, of course I am rich." And he hurled at himself a succession of all the abusive epithets in his vocabulary. All his late follies arose and pa.s.sed in procession before his mind's eye, and he asked himself whether it could really have been he who had committed them. At last his plan of action was clearly traced, and he prepared to execute it in detail, and that without delay.

The first thing to do was to interview his landlord, or rather the agent of the n.o.ble duke who owned the district of London in which Philip's house stood. He wanted permission to cancel his lease. He was prepared for a decided refusal, or, at the least, for difficulties without end.

He was ready to compensate his Grace by paying him a good round sum. The matter was concluded much more easily and rapidly than he had expected or hoped. A rich American, whose daughter lived in the house next to Philip's, and who had long been wis.h.i.+ng to settle close to her, was delighted to seize the opportunity, and finally took the house as it was, and renewed the lease with the landlord. It was a stroke of luck for Philip, and he said to himself, "Fortune is decidedly turning a better face to me."

He knew that 50 Elm Avenue was still unlet, and he went next day to see his former landlord. The house was not only to be let, it was for sale.

The price asked was three thousand pounds. Philip had nearly four thousand in bank. He accepted without hesitation, and the bargain was sealed on the spot. His lawyer attended to the details of the purchase.

Philip had the place painted and papered from top to bottom, he disposed of some superfluous furniture, and in about a month from the time of his decision he was reinstalled in his old home. The furnis.h.i.+ng was exactly the same as before, perhaps a trifle richer. He had been very careful to introduce no change into the studio. The only addition visible was the portrait of the little Italian boy that Dora had painted, and that he had secured by the help of the dealer, who, following Philip's instructions, offered her twenty-five guineas for it.

He engaged fresh servants; not one of the former staff was retained. If ever he should be granted the happiness of seeing Dora return to the nest, he wanted to have there no witnesses of the Belgravian scenes to recall her painful memories.

He set to work ardently and full of hope. Every day Hobbs came, unknown to Dora, to bring him news of her mistress.

Hobbs had told Dora that No. 50 was let, then that it was inhabited, but by Dr. Templeton's orders she did not divulge the name of the occupant.

Dora was sad to hear the news, but she merely said, "I am surprised that it has been empty so long; it is such a pretty house, so convenient, so quiet, so" ... She could go no further, her emotion was too strong.

Presently, with an effort to regain command over herself, she added, "May that house be an abode of happiness to those who inhabit it!" Hobbs was sorry to have spoken, and yet she was burning to say to Dora, "Why, it is your husband who lives there, and who holds out his arms to you; go and throw yourself into them." But she had promised to keep the secret, and she did not break her word.

Dora did not gain strength so fast as her friends had hoped she would.

Excitement, will-power, and courage had stood her in good stead at the start, but she had started too rapidly, and she had not the physical strength to carry her far at the same pace. She had unfortunately counted a little without herself. In this new existence, monotonous and almost without aim, there was not enough to satisfy her lofty character, her bright and energetic nature, which cried out for movement and an intellectual life. She still boasted of enjoying the pleasures of poverty and of preferring them to the others, but she was, in these days, chiefly brought in contact with the dulness and the bareness of poverty. Discouragement invaded her heart, she began to feel that she was vegetating and not living. Her courage was forsaking her. Later might come despair and a desire to have done with the world.

Weak health, grief, and solitude were undermining her. Her temper, always so equable formerly, so gay, was beginning to sour. The strangest contradictions manifested themselves in her behaviour, and that is a disquieting sign in a woman with a mind so well balanced as Dora's. She had refused her door to everyone, and yet she complained that people had forsaken her. She said she wanted to forget the past, and yet she eagerly clung to everything that could remind her of it.

She had promised Hobbs never to go near 50 Elm Avenue, and for a long time she kept her word. But one day she wanted to satisfy her curiosity, to see what sort of an appearance the house had, now that it was reoccupied. She came home in a state that distressed her faithful companion.

"It seems, Hobbs, as if everything were conspiring to overwhelm me. I have been to see the house."

"What! after your promise!"

"Yes, I know it is horrid of me, but I could not help it! Do you believe me when I tell you that I felt as if I recognised some of our own dining-room furniture through the window? And the curtains are exactly the same!"

"Oh, ma'am, it is just your fancy," said poor Hobbs, who feared to hear more. "At all events, you are cured of going there any more, I hope."

And there the matter ended. Lorimer had several times written to Dora, but, not having received any answer to his letters, he had not yet ventured to try and see her. He rather dreaded the first meeting.

"He too has forgotten me and given me up, you see, Hobbs," said Dora.